


Walk All Over You

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Blackpool
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 17:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set right after the 'These Boots Were Made For Walking' scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk All Over You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Five Act Meme on LJ.

“See you later, Dad.” Danny heads out the back.

“Yeah, later.” 

Just when Ripley thinks maybe he'll finally be able to get some work done, the door's swinging open again and Carlisle's back, swaggering over to him. “Actually, I had a few more questions.” 

He pauses, looking around the arcade briefly. Ripley sees his moment and presses his advantage. This slim, Scottish copper, oh, he's pliable but difficult. Ripley pushes him across the floor up against the nearest game console. Nudging his knee between Carlise's legs, Ripley leans in.

“Just what are you...” Carlise starts to open his mouth. 

Ripley gives him a look and Carlisle shuts it abruptly, blinking up at him. God, that kind of power. Ripley misses it. The pure rush of it fair gives him a hard-on. Which he's sure the copper can can tell from the eyebrow he's raising at Ripley now.

“Just keep your mouth shut, you.” Ripley growls. He takes a quick look around. The arcade is mostly deserted. There are a few people here and there, all intent on the screens in front of them. 

He grabs Carlisle by the collar and hauls him around behind the nearest game. There. They could still be seen if anyone ventured too close, but the likelihood of it is less. Ripley can feel his pulse relax slightly, even as he notices the copper's own accelerate.

“Like that, do you?” He murmurs. “Being pushed around by a bigger bloke, eh?” It's not surprising. 

“Well, I hardly think that's the main cause of attraction here.” Carlisle says, licking his lips. Damn the man. Ripley wants him to bend him over the nearest console and fuck him ragged. 

Instead he takes a deep breath. “What're you trying to say?”

“What I'm saying is....you're the one who brought me over here. If anyone has something to hide, it's you?” Carlise grins up at him insolently. 

Abruptly, Ripley's had enough. “Is that right?”

“Wellll...”

He shoves the detective hard against the console. “You come into my establishment, with your fancy ways and expect me to dance to your tune?” Ripley snorts with derision. “Not bloody likely. If anyone's dancing to anyone's tune in here, inspector... It's you...to mine.”

“And what exactly makes you say that?” Carlisle's eyes move from Ripley's face to his body, taking in his stance, everything, at a quick glance. 

“I think I know how you like it to be played.” Ripley says roughly.

“You could be wrong.” Carlisle states.

“Yeah, but I'm not, am I?” Ripley takes that moment to slip his hand between the detective's legs. Just for a wee moment. Just enough to cup him and let the man know that he's had his bits pressed. “You like that, eh? Like being taken advantage of? Well, tough shit.” He stepped back. 

“Didn't think you were the type to back down, Holden.”

“Oh, I'm not.” Ripley shakes his head. He's still keeping an eye on all the near customers in the vicinity. So far no one has a bloody clue to what's going on in the corner of his arcade. And that's the way Ripley prefers it.

“Stick your hand down your trousers.”

“What?” 

“You heard.”

There's a moment of hesitation during which Peter Carlisle thinks about it...and then does it...his long slender hand moves down inside the waistband of his trousers. Ripley follows the movement avidly. 

“What you're waiting for?” He growls at last. “Instructions? Never wanked yourself off before, inspector?”

“Yeah. Well...” Carlisle licks his lips and waits. 

“Oh.” Ripley gets it then. His tune. “Slowly. Just a bit of pressure, like a dancer's pressing on your palm.”

“Sorry?” Carlisle looks at him bewildered. At that, Ripley simply gives up.

“Stroke yourself, nice and easy, with a bit of tension but still a tiny bit of give.”

“Ahh.” Carlisle nods his head. That he gets. His hand moves in his trousers as Ripley watches unimpressed. 

“That's not...” He leans in, unfastening the man's trousers easily, pulling them down to his thighs. Carlisle's thin white shorts are not quite what Ripley expected, but the tip of the man's cock, jutting out from the gap between them is _exactly_ what he expected.

“Squeeze the head gently then. Just a bit of a rub.”

Carlisle raises his eyebrow again, but he does it. His fingers rubbing slowly over the head of his cock as his eyes stay focused on Ripley's. 

“Spread your legs a bit more.” Ripley directs. He likes a bit of a show and Carlisle's giving him one at least, leaning insolently against the console as he strokes himself lazily. Ripley folds his arms across his chest. “Is that the best you got?”

Carlisle pauses. “Look,”

“Stick out your hand.” 

Slowly Carlisle holds out his hand and Ripley spits in the center of his palm. “There. Now do it.”

There's a dull red flush flooding Carlisle's ears as he applies Ripley's saliva to his cock. He moves a little faster now, fingers tightening as he strokes. His lips part in concentration, the tip of his tongue protruding slightly. 

Just as he's getting close, panting slightly, hand moving quicker in anticipation, Ripley drawls, “Slow it down, eh, it's not a bloody competition.”

Carlisle glares at him, but his pace slackens. 

Ripley stands there, just smirking at him. He's not lost his touch at any rate. There's something appealing about the copper like this, all splayed open for him, thighs open, his long coat shielding him on either side.

“Pull your coat open more.” 

Carlise shoves each lapel open wider with his free hand. “Anything else you want?”

“Yeah...” Ripley cocks his head, like he's thinking about it. “You. On your knees. That's how I want to see you come.” He'd like to see more than that, but it'll do for now.

Carlisle licks his lips, swallows, and slowly lowers himself to his knees.

Ripley doesn't give him any more instruction that. He slips his hands in his pockets and just watches. Carlise's so close, Ripley can taste it. The strain on the man's face as he works his cock, face upturned to Ripley. 

Only when he comes, does Carlise turn his face away, toward the collar of his coat.

Ripley cracks his gum loudly. “Not bad...but it needs a little work before I'd put you on a stage.”

Carlise snorts. Wiping his hand casually on the inside of his trousers, he pulls them up and stands. “Thanks for the tip.”

“Any time.” Ripley stands there, still watching as Carlisle finally walks away. This time he doesn't come back.


End file.
